Scientist

On my way to my hometown, I listened to Coldplay’s The Scientist. The moment I heard this song, it felt as though I was regressing into the past. This piece was, after all, the song that most perfectly contained my heart when I parted ways with my first love.

The lyrics of the song bore an uncanny resemblance to my final moments back then. After breaking up with her, I spent several days living like a ruined soul. I ate nothing, and sleep eluded me. The conversations we used to share late at night, as part of our daily routine, turned into hollow stretches of time. I should have filled those hours with something else, but I left them completely vacant, just as they were.

My heart ached. I had not known in the past that I loved her to such an extent. Yet, once all of this came to an end, there were so many things I wanted to say. It felt as though those numerous words I wished to speak were deeply dissolved within the lyrics. How I missed her. How sorry I was. And how incredibly lovely she had been.

However, after it ended in that manner, it felt as if a part of my soul had been cleanly severed. From then on, it seems I had to search for another reason to exist in life. Vowing never to give my love away so easily again. Hoping that there would be reasons to live other than love.

Since it is an event from quite a long time ago, it felt as though all memories and wounds had been completely healed, but there was a part that was not. I had merely wrapped the wound in a thick, calloused shell. With just a single line of a song, my heart ached intensely with those ancient memories and scars. Would she, perhaps, ever know? The fact that I wanted to love her as my last woman. Or perhaps, it was because she knew that she departed. I may never know whether I will ever hear an answer, but remembering her face which was always bright, I only wish for her happiness in the days ahead.

Just as I became able to approach people without fear only after ripping away my own face, it felt as though I became capable of treating women with nonchalance only after the person I loved more than myself departed. Perhaps, without even realizing it, I have suffered permanent damage to a part of my psyche, rendering me disabled.

A painful childhood. Parting with someone who was more precious to me than myself. A faith that was dearer than life itself. Hasn't the accumulation of all those times ultimately torn me apart here and there, transforming me into a damaged, crippled person? If only I had lived a little less earnestly. If only I had lived a little less drastically, would my love have been peaceful as well?

I now view this world entirely as just a single game. A raw game of my own choosing. A game so utterly realistic that one cannot even perceive it as a game. Within such a tragedy, I am feeling a sense of humanity. Pleasure and agony. The torment of surgery. The inevitable humiliation experienced when one is weak. The wretchedness of poverty.

Living in the world with a sensation where tears well up to the point of hurting the eyes, as if about to burst, carries two meanings. Either harboring a desire to view the entire world as an enemy and lay it to ashes, or wailing in the agony of a mourning wall while pitying myself, driven into such a miserable plight.

If a blessing awaits me, I will be able to find my final love. If a blessing awaits me, my life will not be stained with the narrative of a wretched tragedy. If a blessing awaits me, my painful memories will protect me in the most perilous places. If a blessing awaits me, I will experience a happiness where past scars are no longer remembered. If a blessing awaits me. If the moment to enjoy it finally arrives for me.